Chapter 113: Sudden Turn for the Worse (2) |
"By the way, Shutong, you know Qiumian still thinks you went home to rest obediently. She even told me to take you out to relax. If she finds out about this, she'll definitely worry again..."
Old Song put away his phone and quietly leaned close to his ear.
Zhang Shutong was silent for a moment. "That's for the best. Don't tell her."
There was no need. He wasn't trying to prove anything to anyone. She already had bodyguards surrounding her, so her situation was safe. What would be the point of hinting that he was running around outside looking for the so-called killer—deliberately playing the victim or indulging in self-pity?
Besides, even if she knew, she'd just call him at home or ask a few questions on QQ at most.
Old Song shook his head and said nothing more. The group headed to the second floor of the shopping center where colorful banners fluttered. Some newly opened storefronts lined the way. Their destination was a chain Sichuan restaurant. Old Song said he needed to use the restroom, so Zhang Shutong and Lu Qinglian wandered around near the entrance.
"First time here?"
"First time."
They now stood across from the Sichuan restaurant at an electronics store. Shopping centers back then didn't have clearly defined zones like the first floor being the fashion district and the second floor being the food court—everything was jumbled together in a chaotic mess.
Zhang Shutong and Lu Qinglian loitered outside the store, mooching off the display TVs.
The television was tuned to the local channel showing the midday news, reporting on the recent days of heavy snow. They also covered some winter safety tips—clearing accumulated snow from roofs and pathways in a timely manner, walking slowly, not riding bikes for the next few days. This stuff would probably show up in next week's Chinese homework.
Zhang Shutong glanced at it once and lost interest. Nothing of substance. Lu Qinglian, however, raised her face and watched very seriously, like a cat staring at dried fish in a shop window.
Whatever. This girl found everything fascinating.
The scene shifted to new footage, showing some mountain on the island covered in snow. The host's tone turned lighthearted as they reminded everyone to watch out for avalanches.
Avalanches. A somewhat distant concept.
But Zhang Shutong knew it wasn't impossible. The host continued, saying students absolutely must not go up the mountains alone this weekend, and even if they did go, they had to be extremely careful.
Because avalanches usually don't occur right after it snows.
They happen a few days later when temperatures rise and the snow surface melts. The meltwater slowly seeps in, making what was once solid snow loose and unstable.
Then they cut to some statistics:
"According to experts, 90% of avalanches are triggered by the victims themselves or their companions. These are called 'recreational avalanches.'
"Sounds made by winter sports enthusiasts can inadvertently become the trigger. Sometimes even a single sneeze is enough—the vibrations from the sound source transmit into the snow layers, causing the precarious accumulated snow to collapse.
"Therefore, outdoor activities must be conducted quietly. Especially when an avalanche occurs, the victim's screams may very well trigger a secondary avalanche.
"Once a person is buried under the snow, if they cannot be rescued within half an hour, their chances of survival become very slim..."
"That timeframe's unreliable, don't believe it," Zhang Shutong said offhandedly. "Actually, the optimal rescue time for most people is only fifteen minutes. Only adult males in excellent physical condition might possibly hold out for half an hour."
Lu Qinglian nodded her chin, then asked in confusion, "Do you need to soak your feet in hot water after being rescued?"
Zhang Shutong shut his mouth.
"Watch if you want," he said helplessly. "Who told you to spend every day up in the mountains."
The scene shifted again to another mountain view. As the camera zoomed in, Zhang Shutong found it somewhat familiar:
"Look at that road at the foot of the mountain. Doesn't it look like the mountain road leading to the villa?"
"It does seem like it." The young girl furrowed her brow as well.
"Then do you think those footprints might have been..."
"Left by reporters?" The girl flatly finished his sentence.
That would be quite the embarrassing mistake.
Zhang Shutong examined it more carefully for a moment before saying:
"Probably not. Do you see that tree there? I remember resting there and looking up at the accumulated snow on the mountain, worried about avalanches. There was no tree at that time. And there were no footprints on the mountain road either—this is probably old footage they're using as filler."
Lu Qinglian thought back. "I didn't see a tree there either."
Just then they heard Old Song calling them. Zhang Shutong turned around, but Lu Qinglian was still watching the TV.
"Next we'll demonstrate the standard procedure for CPR..."
He called out to her. The girl watched for a few more moments before turning her head and hobbling into the restaurant on her crutches.
...
The three friends arrived not long after.
They weren't particularly surprised to see the two had arrived first, except for expressing some concern about Lu Qinglian's injured foot.
After ordering, the group was led into a private room by the server. Old Song took the lead, back ramrod straight, while the staff addressed him as "Mr. Song" at every turn. Combined with that golden super VIP card in his hand, he really did look like a successful professional.
But as soon as the door closed, the façade crumbled.
The man took off his coat while smiling wryly:
"You guys remember this—even though I said I'd treat you all, you have to credit this favor to Qiumian. I thought I'd deposited maybe five hundred at most, but it turned out to be a full five thousand."
"How much?"
Several of the youngsters exclaimed in shock.
"Five thousand, and only because that's the maximum this card can hold," Old Song said with some distress. "It's not that I'm being ungrateful, but if I'd known it was this much, I wouldn't have accepted it. Actually, I wasn't planning to accept it at all initially, but Qiumian said to take you guys out and have some fun, treat it as calming your nerves and not dwelling on what happened yesterday. I figured I wasn't the only one spending it, one meal would probably use it all up, so I took it. But how am I supposed to spend five thousand... Do any of you need to buy clothes?"
"No." Everyone shook their heads in unison.
"After this meal, I'll leave the card with you guys. You can decide how to split it yourselves. Your teacher will avoid the appearance of impropriety..."
"We don't need that much either," Du Kang said instinctively. "Can we return it?"
"How about this," Old Song said cheerfully. "Let's pretend this card doesn't exist. I'll still treat you to this meal. Tomorrow when we see Qiumian, I'll say I forgot to bring the card. That way she'll probably feel bad about it and treat you guys to another meal. Back and forth, you get two meals, and as for this card—Shutong, you find a chance to give it back to her."
Everyone agreed. Just like that, the card ended up in his hands in a muddled fashion. Zhang Shutong examined it—it was actually metal, with a substantial weight.
Soon dishes were brought out one after another, eight courses in total. Old Song actually felt a bit of heartache, but he couldn't lose face in front of his students at a time like this. He actively raised his cola and called for everyone to toast.
"Shutong, why are you sitting so far away?" Ruoping asked curiously.
"I caught a cold." Zhang Shutong pulled down his mask. "Afraid I'll infect you guys."
"How late did you run around outside yesterday?"
"I forgot." Zhang Shutong answered honestly.
He toasted with everyone through the air, gulping down his cola.
Zhang Shutong said he had a super-strong flu, and just a bit of saliva would spell disaster. Anyone not afraid of death was welcome to come closer.
Sure enough, they all found him disgusting.
Ruoping even very "thoughtfully" found him a pair of serving chopsticks.
It was already past one o'clock.
He never talked much to begin with, and today even less. Listening to the others chattering noisily at the table, he sat in the distance silently eating. Everyone knew he was sick, so they were understanding and didn't call on him to chat or toast.
Zhang Shutong occasionally checked his phone. His mind felt clearer now—he had Old Song to thank for that.
He remembered that after resolving the Zhou Ziheng father-son situation, on the way home, he'd arrogantly thought that Regression was nothing more than kicking away the stones blocking his path through life. Now looking back, some things just needed closure. If he could still run, he'd keep running. If he'd really given it his all, then he could rest for a bit.
Someone not afraid of death sidled up next to him—it was Qingyi:
"Any new discoveries?"
"Discovered what?" Zhang Shutong shifted his chair over and picked up some kung pao chicken. "Oh, I discovered something—this stuff is actually sweet."
"Where are you planning to go this afternoon?"
"Ride around some more."
Qingyi asked in surprise, "I thought you'd hide it from us."
"That would be too boring. Now whoever asks, I'll tell them. If they don't ask, naturally I'm happy to have some peace and quiet."
"Is there anything we need to do?"
"Not really. I'm just riding around everywhere. When I'm exhausted, I'll head back." Zhang Shutong thought for a moment.
"To find those footprints?"
"No, actually it's for another person. Now I know what I've been subconsciously worried about," Zhang Shutong sighed. "If it was just those footprints on the mountain road, there's nothing to fear. But do you remember the figure I saw in the Forbidden Zone?"
"Oh, didn't we say that was Lu Qinglian?"
"It wasn't her." Zhang Shutong could only answer this way. "But I don't know who it was either. She and the footprints are two different people. Oh right, on the way back yesterday, we ran into the actual killer. Lu Qinglian exchanged blows with her."
Zhang Shutong gave a brief description. "Based on the skills she displayed, there's nothing to worry about. If she walks into a trap, even if I can't beat her, a whole bunch of bodyguards can. Not to mention I'm planning to bring Lu Qinglian along tonight too."
"So what's really worrying you is still the figure in the Forbidden Zone?"
Zhang Shutong nodded. "If I can find her, I'll find her. If not, I'll wait until the snow melts and search slowly. One way or another, I have to find her."
"I think I understand a bit now. The situation isn't really that dangerous—you just want to get past your own mental block?"
"Right."
"So it's not that you want to hide things from anyone, you genuinely don't need help?"
"Mm."
"Don't push yourself too hard."
"Men have to push themselves a bit," Zhang Shutong rarely cracked a joke. "Actually it's just OCD."
"This is called protecting what you cherish." Qingyi tossed out a chuunibyou line and waved his hand. "Well, contact us if anything comes up."
The same thing sounds different coming from different people. In Old Song's eyes it was OCD, in Qingyi's eyes it was chuunibyou. Of course, he himself didn't see it that way.
After the meal, Zhang Shutong discussed another matter with Lu Qinglian.
He'd have her go rest at Ruoping's house for a while to prepare for the evening.
In her current condition, going back up the mountain was impossible, and going to his house would make it inconvenient to stay in contact.
Ruoping naturally agreed. After settling things, Zhang Shutong grabbed his coat and said goodbye to everyone.
...
"How much did it cost, Teacher?" Ruoping asked curiously.
She saw that Old Song's hands were shaking when he came out.
"Don't ask. Not expensive." The man closed his eyes, exhaling and inhaling, too embarrassed to say that this meal had cost him a seventh of his salary—a full six hundred yuan.
"How about we all chip in?" Ruoping could tell from the teacher's tone that something was off and felt a bit embarrassed.
"I said I'd treat, how could I go back on that." Song Nanshan sighed. "I haven't had any major expenses these past few years, so I've gotten a bit stingy. Actually, when I was younger I was a real spendthrift, money burning a hole in my pocket."
"You weren't buying gifts for your girlfriend, were you?"
"You actually guessed right." Old Song chuckled. "You're a girl, so you should know women have tons of expenses. There's economical living and there's not settling, and if you don't want to settle, the spending instantly jumps up a tier. Let me tell you, just buying fruit..."
Ruoping covered her ears:
"Stop, stop, I don't want to hear you showing off your relationship."
"Just expressing some feelings, some feelings." Song Nanshan said awkwardly. This really wasn't appropriate to discuss with students.
"Well, I'll take you guys home in a bit. Don't worry about Shutong—this kid's been a bit stubborn lately. How should I put it... as his friends, just be understanding."
"No problem~" Ruoping drew out the sound. "Sigh, I'm too lazy to ask anymore. These next few days, let him do whatever. We'll just humor his delusions."
"Mm, having friends like you is his good fortune."
Song Nanshan smiled with relief.
"Let's hope so. I'm more worried he finds us annoying." Ruoping rolled her eyes and called for the other two boys to hurry up.
She didn't know when they'd run off to the electronics store across from the restaurant to mooch off the TVs. The screen was showing Kamen Rider.
The two boys gestured with their hands and shouted out lines:
"Hey Qingyi, I never want to see people's tears again! I want to see everyone smiling!"
"That happens to be my wish too, Du Kang, so watch carefully—my transformation!"
Before the transformation could finish, Ruoping dragged them back, utterly speechless.
"How old are you two, still watching Kamen Rider? Aren't you embarrassed..."
This comment, however, was met with the two boys' extreme indignation:
"First of all, this is Kamen Rider. Second, your grandfather has arrived!"
Ruoping instantly fell silent.
"Do you realize your mistake now?"
"I don't know you two..." She sighed. "Alright, Qinglian's foot isn't good and she's waiting downstairs. Let's hurry."
"You're right." Du Kang instantly betrayed the Rider camp. "I told you ages ago that Kuuga isn't worth watching, Qingyi."
"You..." Qingyi stared at him in disbelief.
The three chattered as they walked toward Song Nanshan. The man was waiting for them by the elevator.
"I can't deal with them anymore, Teacher. You handle them." Ruoping walked while covering her forehead.
The man had been leaning against the handrail, smiling as he watched them roughhouse. He waved them over to get on the elevator, when suddenly his smile froze:
"Wait a moment, Ruoping..."
"What's wrong?"
"You guys play for a bit... or could you call your dad and have him come pick you up? I suddenly have something urgent... right now," the man was visibly flustered and incoherent, "No, I might not be back for a while. In any case, I have to go... right now..."
"What's wrong, Teacher? What happened?" Du Kang quickly ran over to ask.
But Song Nanshan didn't respond. Instead, he stumbled off the elevator in a panic. The three were stunned by this sudden turn of events. By the time they thought to follow, their homeroom teacher had already run down to the first floor of the shopping center, his figure disappearing into the sea of people.
"What's wrong with Teacher?" Ruoping said in a daze.
"Let's call and ask in a bit." Qingyi looked back. "Which direction was he looking at?"
"I think the first floor?" Ruoping pointed. The three looked simultaneously—there was a surging crowd.
"I'll call my dad first." The group quickly went down to the first floor. Ruoping sighed wearily and dialed the number while waving to Lu Qinglian. "Over here! Change of plans, we'll take my family's car back..."
...
Zhang Shutong rode his bike to the police station.
Another question had occurred to him. Since three people had died in the Forbidden Zone over the span of eight years, had similar cases occurred before? Or had anyone witnessed suspicious traces in the Forbidden Zone in the past?
In the original timeline, at the funeral home, Du Kang had mentioned that a few days before the incident, fishermen had seen someone in the Forbidden Zone.
Zhang Shutong had previously assumed it was a poacher who'd set traps, and had thus ruled out the Forbidden Zone. But looking at it now, all the clues led back to the beginning.
He now had two police officers' phone numbers. One was Officer Xiong, whom he'd met through fishing. The other was Officer Wang, who had a connection with Old Song.
However, neither officer was there. They'd gone to the city to file reports about the Gu family matter, leaving only a low-ranking officer on duty. The phone didn't go through either—the line was busy, probably in a meeting.
Zhang Shutong asked the officer if he could look at the case files. The man looked uncomfortable:
"The case files definitely wouldn't follow procedure, but regarding those two situations you mentioned, I can tell you that neither has occurred over these years. If we're really talking about deaths in that wasteland, there's that legend about a fishing boat full of college students that capsized. But that was at the turn of the century when I was about your age, and even now there's no definitive answer about whether it was real or fake."
Zhang Shutong sighed and thanked him.
It was now 3 PM.
If he set midnight on Saturday as zero hour, there were still 9 hours until the incident.
He habitually checked his phone. Ruoping said they'd already gotten home, and that Old Song suddenly had an emergency and left in a hurry for some reason. She'd called but couldn't get through, and would try again later.
Zhang Shutong replied that he understood.
He put on his helmet and gloves, straddled his bike, and began riding around the island against the cold wind.
He didn't know if this was the right thing to do—searching for a "nonexistent" person, constantly running for this reason. The motorcycle's exhaust pipe was scorching hot. He'd accidentally touched it when getting on earlier, and it hurt even through his glove.
He rode along the bus routes, circling round and round.
Had Old Song once walked such a path too?
Zhang Shutong sometimes wondered.
White snow, reeds, stones, ice, mud...
Desolation everywhere.
Winter was never a gentle season. It merely concealed its harshness beneath purity.
Zhang Shutong didn't know how long he'd been riding. His midday condition seemed to have been just a momentary rally. His head was starting to spin again. He knew he couldn't push himself anymore. Checking his phone, it was already past four.
An entire afternoon had passed just like that.
Zhang Shutong rode back to the hospital and registered on his own, still at respiratory medicine. The same uncle was on duty, who clearly started in recognition:
"It's you again?"
"I think I'm running a fever again..." Zhang Shutong said. "Can I get another shot?"
"Kid, you think fever-reducing injections are meals? Got one at noon and coming back in the afternoon." The doctor had a headache. "I think you should just get an IV. Rest there for a while. If you still can't break the fever tonight, it'll probably get serious."
Zhang Shutong thought about it and had no objections.
He got the prescription and went to the ward for his injection. It was still that young nurse. "Why are you back again?"
"Busy." He'd always had a sense of humor.
Zhang Shutong held out his hand. She fastened the tourniquet and patted the back of his hand, as if examining a rack of spare ribs:
"How long were you outside? Your hands are freezing!"
"All afternoon."
"Stop running around."
"Can't run anymore." Zhang Shutong weakly lifted his hand in response.
He asked the nurse for a charger. This time he absolutely didn't dare be careless—he had to dutifully charge his battery to full.
Zhang Shutong closed his eyes to rest, occasionally opening them to check the IV bag, worried he might fall asleep.
As it turned out, he was overthinking. There were even more people in the evening. The ward was packed with coughing, spitting, various strange smells drifting through the air, plus children crying—the noise made his temples throb.
Hospitals were definitely not pleasant places, but somehow he found a trace of warmth in this hellish environment.
Zhang Shutong saw a chubby kid whose veins couldn't be found. The nurse suggested putting the IV in his foot, but the kid refused to cooperate no matter what, using his hands and feet to desperately hide both feet under himself like some meditating arhat. His mother stood by anxiously while the crying didn't stop and the nurse didn't relent. Zhang Shutong smiled at the sight, forgetting whether he'd been like this as a child, seeing needles and bursting into tears. But being an adult essentially meant that one day when you felt unwell, you consciously went to the hospital for an injection.
This was a small ward about the size of his family's living room, a few dozen square meters, with both a sofa and beds. The sofa was full of holes, with hardly any foam filling left inside. When you sat down, you could feel the metal frame—who knew who was so wicked that instead of just getting their injection, they had to pick at the sofa... But when he came to his senses, he found he'd also pulled out a small tuft of foam. Awkward.
Around dinnertime, the strange smells of various fluids mixed with the aroma of food. Zhang Shutong felt a bit nauseous and simply went out for a walk. He took down his IV bag and held it up, coming to the corridor. It was shoulder-to-shoulder crowded here. He thought of a trick—hanging the IV bag on the window handle so both hands were finally free.
The hospital wasn't strictly managed these days. A man stood beside him, constantly smoking. The cold wind from outside surged in waves, pushing the smoke in all directions. Zhang Shutong knew the emergency room was next door. Whose husband or father was this?
Winter was the season of death, and hospitals were the places closest to it.
Behind him were people hurrying past—adults, children, men, women... Noisy behind, you gazing at the snow outside, that was the only peaceful place.
He yawned, about to head back, when someone suddenly bumped into him.
"Make way!" It turned out to be a group of nurses running through the corridor. Leading them was a male nurse whose voice was urgent, not really paying attention to his surroundings. Zhang Shutong nearly got knocked over, and for a moment the needle in his hand even showed some backflow of blood.
Looking carefully, the nurses were surrounding a hospital bed—it was indeed an emergency. He quickly moved aside, knowing that at times like this, he shouldn't fuss about getting bumped into. If he couldn't help, at least he shouldn't cause trouble.
He even thought, this was the problem with small hospitals. Unlike large hospitals with clearly defined areas—injection rooms were just for injections. Forget about emergencies, even children had their own separate pediatric ward.
But on this small island, you could see all kinds of patients—those with runny noses, those with high fevers that wouldn't break, those needing emergency care, and those on the verge of death.
Zhang Shutong felt somewhat moved. He shook his head and brushed past the hospital bed.
A man lay on the bed, his head wrapped in bandages that seeped with blood. His eyes were tightly closed, his face pale as paper.
"Crash—"
The IV bag in his hand fell to the ground, the medicine spilling everywhere, glass scattering across the terrazzo floor. This was already the chaotic center, now chaos upon chaos.
Zhang Shutong stood as if struck by lightning. He opened his mouth but suddenly couldn't speak.
Because he recognized that man.
The man's name was Song Nanshan.